


Great Heights

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Near Death Experiences, Rhys is Handsome Jack's Personal Assistant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-15 22:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16942245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Rhys nearly falls to his death thanks to a mishap on Pandora, forcing Jack to spring into action and live up to his self-imposed title of "hero."





	Great Heights

**Author's Note:**

> I realized I haven't posted some of my old whump/injury fics from October, this is one of those!

It takes a second too long for Jack to realize what’s happening.

Pandora’s earthquakes aren’t exactly uncommon, but Jack usually likes to deal with them on flat ground rather than up on this spire-like outcropping casing the spot for a new ECHOnet tower. Not that the rumbling and sudden cascade of rocks didn’t certainly _startle_ him, but he thinks that will be it, and they will just have to keep an eye out for aftershocks until they can get the hell off this planet.

Jack doesn’t even realized Rhys is standing that close to the edge of cliff when it happens—and that is because he _isn’t_ , he’s separated from the long drop by a group of soldiers, up to the point where the quake causes the rocks to crumble and create a new cliff right under Rhys’ feet.

Jack’s heart plummets into his hips as Rhys teeters back on the sudden brink, arms pinwheeling as his eyes grow wide and terrified. It almost looks funny, and Jack almost wants to laugh to diffuse the fear, but then Rhys is _actually falling_. At the last second the PA manages to throw himself forward, chin and chest slamming hard into the ground as the rest of his body vanishes from Jack’s view.

Rhys just barely clutches at the edge of the unstable cliff as Jack starts running, his hands clumsily digging into the earth as he struggles to keep from falling. His nails claw long lines in the red sand, and Jack can sense he’s slipping, unable to hold on much longer as the ground still trembles minutely beneath him.

Jack’s feet are moving faster than the scene around him as time itself stops to observe his heroics. He drops his gun and sprints to the edge as Rhys slips away, inch by inch. Jack lunges just as Rhys disappears with a scream, desperation and adrenaline shooting him forward.

His belly scrapes agains the rocky ground as he skids forward, nearly sliding off the edge of the cliff himself as he snatches Rhys’ flailing yellow hand. He gasps at the air nearly knocked from his lungs and the sudden yank of weight at the connection between his arm and shoulder. He clenches his teeth so tightly together he feels he might grind them into dust as he digs his toes into the ground, halting his slide even as Rhys’ struggling weight tries to pull him all the way over the edge. Rhys kicks out in terror, one of his skagskin boots already lost down the cliffside.

“K-Kiddo—stop—stop—!” Jack grits out, fingers clenched in a death grip around Rhys’ wrist so tenuous he doesn’t dare sweat.

The kid is bone-white, utterly terrified beyond all reason as he dangles like a lure from the unstable cliff, trying to quell his panicked movements. People behind Jack are shouting, words that don’t make sense to him like “slope stability” and “soil liquefaction.” All he cares about is saving Rhys, anyway, so their concerns and noises are irrelevant.

“Jack—“ Rhys croaks, voice weak and reedy above the whistle of the wind and the echo of the cascading rocks. His body hangs above the dizzying drop, colors of red and blue and yellow a contrast against the faded red and grey terrain of the earth below. From this high up Jack can’t make out what the bottom exactly looked like, but considering the distance there’s no way Rhys would survive. The reality of the fate he’s just snagged Rhys from should make him queasy, but with adrenaline pumping through his veins all he can really think about is getting his PA up and out of danger.

“Don’t worry pumpkin, don’t worry,” the words drain out of his mouth, as if pulled down and out by gravity, “I’m not gonna let you fall.”

Some might consider it a bad move to ever trust someone like Handsome Jack, even if they were dangling off a cliff and held into the world of the living only by his hand. Others might cut off their hand themselves to spare the indignity of getting rescued by him. But Rhys—Rhys who has stuck by his side no matter what, Rhys who hasn’t for a moment ever shown a lick of betrayal or mistrust, Rhys who feels safe enough to fall asleep on Jack’s own couch—swallows around the tense lump in his throat, nods, and actually _closes his eyes_.

Jack’s grip tightens harder around his PA’s wrist.

Though he can feel the hands of his guards start grip onto his hips and waist, trying to pull him back from the edge, Jack knows he’ll have to yank Rhys up the rest of the way himself if he wants to see him out of this. He tenses his jaw, summoning all the battered strength in his upper body as he lifted violently upwards with one hand.

The armored fingers of his soldiers grab at his shoulders as Jack tries to lever himself up, all joints in his arm screaming as he struggles to yank Rhys back up and over the edge. For a moment, he fears either his or Rhys’ arm will merely tear out of their sockets and send the PA crashing down the cliffside, but with a thunderous roar and tremendousshow of strength that nearly stops his breathing Jack finally pulls Rhys back up on solid ground and drags the him away from the crumbly edge.

Rhys slides against the earth like he’s melted, gasping and sobbing roughly as his nails dig back into the dirt. Jack sits flat on his ass, hand still seized tightly around Rhys’ robot arm, brain yet to catch up with the reality that Rhys is _safe_ , that neither of them are teetering on the brink of death any longer.

“H-Holy shit—“ Rhys stammers, shaking his head back and forth as if he can’t believe he’s still alive, “that was so— _Jack,_ I can’t believe you—“

“I know, right?” Jack interrupts, voice too loud and unstable with adrenaline. “ _Shoot_ , I thought you were a frikkin’ goner, kiddo, but look! I dragged you back from the brink of de— _agh!_ ”

Jack had tried to pump his other arm into the air in a triumphant gesture but the sudden movement sends pain lancing from shoulder to shoulder. He collapses back, finally letting go of Rhys’ hand as his fingers grow numb, pain radiating out from the joints of that arm and into his chest. He twitches and groans as the purr of adrenaline wastes away, leaving him with the pain expected from snatching a half-cyborg out of thin air.

“ _Ohh_ damn it, this? _This hurts_ …” Jack hisses, gritted his teeth against the tearing pain and the Pandoran sunlight piercing through the veil of settling dust above. He hears the scuffle of his men around them, the distant, fuzzy radio call for a medic. The pain is spreading throughout his body, seeping in from the throbbing arm into his torso and neck.

“H-Hey…” A weak voices drips in from above, and when Jack focuses on the shadowed face above him he quickly figures out it’s Rhys, now with a little more color in his cheeks than before. Something fleshy and soft touches his cheek.

“Don’t…don’t try to move, okay? Think you…think you fucked up your arm…” Jack is in too much pain to correct Rhys’ language. He merely hisses through his teeth and nods.

“Haha, yeah, _yeah_ , think I could’ve told you all that…” His toes curl in his shoes from the pain, and all he wants is to be off this frikkin’ planet and back in a nice comfortable bed, shot full of expensive painkillers.

Rhys’ face falls, something weird like _guilt_ crossing over it at Jack’s pain, and wait, _no_ , that won’t do at all. His PA moves to open his mouth but Jack quickly shushes him, his brows furrowing from annoyance rather than agony.

“D-Don’t you go giving me _that look_ , sugar. Saving people is what heroes _do_.” He wishes he could waggle a finger at Rhys but he can hardly move, so what he hopes is a stern, but reassuring look on his face will have to do until then. “I wasn’t about to let you become a Rhys’ splatter against the god-damn Pandoran desert.”

And Rhys still looks a little upset, obviously—no one expects a straight-laced corporate softie to shrug off a near death experience—but his lips do quirk up a little in a humoring smile that helps more than anything make Jack grateful he’d dove headlong to keep his PA safe.”

“In that case…” Rhys runs his fingers carefully back through his messy hair, before pressing a kiss to Jack’s cheek. “Thanks, Handsome.”


End file.
